Among the weary faces, a new one appeared. An elf. She walked a few steps ahead of Alex, yet stood out from the crowd. Her posture was upright, her stride confident. Not even the bloodstained side and the dirt on her face could dim that strength.
Her hair was tied back, and on her shoulder was a tattoo — something geometric, tribal-like — sharp lines twisted into a symbol that could've meant anything, but in his eyes, it seemed like something more. Against the monotony of the desert, she looked almost unreal. Wildness and pride radiated from every movement she made. And although she walked at the same pace as the others, Alex felt she didn't belong to the same world.
He didn't know why, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. For a long time, he simply watched her move in rhythm with the march. The other slaves stared at the ground, barely alive, but she... she still seemed to have a reason to keep going.
And then their eyes met.
A brief moment. A split second. And yet it was enough. There was no fear in her gaze. There was anger. And something else — rage, pride... life. Alex felt his throat tighten. As if that moment awakened him more than any words could have.
After a second, she looked away. Kept walking as if nothing had happened. As if that moment meant nothing. But inside him, the impression remained — that he would remember her forever.
The day dragged on. The sun sank lower, and the sky gradually shifted from pale yellow to purple. When the caravan reached the ruins of old buildings, a whistle rang out. The guards began setting up camp. One of them pointed to a spot where a sheet of fabric had been stretched — that was to be their shelter.
The shade, though scarce, brought relief. At the edge of the camp, tattered, faded cloth screens had been set up — offering only partial protection from sand and wind. Strange, hunched creatures that resembled lizards roamed nearby — they had scales, long tails, and glowing eyes with vertical pupils. They moved low to the ground, growling softly, tracking every motion.
Alex slumped to the ground beneath the tarp. His muscles felt like lead, his back torn from labor and sun and sun. He looked ahead and saw the elf. She sat alone in a corner, her back to the cloth, eyes closed. She breathed slowly, evenly. As if she were praying, though no words passed her lips.
In the evening, they were given bowls of food — a mash of grains and something that vaguely resembled meat. Alex ate slowly, trying not to think about the taste with each bite. He kept watching her from the corner of his eye. They didn't speak. He didn't approach.
But when one of the guards threw her bowl into the sand and chuckled under his breath, Alex moved instinctively. He stopped himself at the last second. The elf simply picked up the bowl and began eating without a word.
That night, he slept fitfully. He dreamed of trees, of dampness, of cold. He had the feeling of walking barefoot on wet earth, with branches growing out of the darkness, reaching to embrace him. He smelled leaves, soil, rain. Something whispered his name, but he couldn't understand it.
He woke up with a jolt. The camp was quiet, only the wind stirring the tarp. Somewhere nearby, one of the guarding creatures growled. He looked up at the sky—black, full of stars, endless.